


John is the Cutest Jailbird Sherlock's Ever Seen

by cardy221b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 50's music, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Bottom John, Domestic Fluff, Elvis - Freeform, First Dance, Fluff and Smut, Jailhouse Rock, M/M, Shameless Smut, Sherlock Teaches John To Dance, Sherlock is a 50's geek, Sherlock is a dancer, Shower Sex, Swing Dancing, Top Sherlock, brief mention of Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 14:53:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3451175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardy221b/pseuds/cardy221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has always had an unexpected passion for American 50's music, and swing dancing. When John stumbles on Sherlock cutting loose with The King, they find they have something in common.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock has always loved 50’s music. He always felt he was meant to be born in that era, to witness The King and chew on Chuckles candy. Ever since he was a boy, he would steal away to his room, clutching one of his parents’ old Elvis vinyls and listening to the tunes until the wee hours of the morning. It was when he stumbled in on his parents swing dancing to Good Golly, Miss Molly that he knew, it was definitely where he belonged. When he was caught watching, his father just smiled and took little Sherlock under his wing, teaching him all he knew about the dance. Soon, Sherlock was a natural, twirling his mother this way and that across the living room floor, smiling and singing along the whole time.

The only time his brain slowed down at all was when he danced, and during his teenage years he clung to this finding. After a particularly rough day at school, he would come into the living room, vinyl in hand, and dance with his mom for hours. Mycroft would sneer and make rude remarks about his younger sibling’s hobby, but it never bothered Sherlock for this was what he loved.

Unfortunately, as he reached adulthood and his mother aged, neither of them were able to dance together like they used to, and he could never find it in himself to find another follow. Sherlock’s mind constantly got the better of him, and he quickly came to the conclusion that he would have to find other diversions; hence his drug habit. 

Moving into 221B did prove to be somewhat of an improvement. He didn’t have anyone to dance with still, but at least there he could listen to the vinyls his parents had donated to him, and dance with a phantom partner (or whatever he could find to whisk around). However, doing the pretzel move did prove to be near impossible with a mop.

One afternoon while out for lunch (which was about the only thing he had eaten all week), he ran into an old friend. Or, rather an old friend spotted him while he hurriedly tried to hide his face and scamper into the bathroom of the diner.

“Sherlock, is that you? Oh of course it is, I’d know that tall collared coat anywhere. How ya been, mate?” Stamford asked, waddling over to Sherlock and extending a hand.

“Stanford, yes hello. Fine, thank you,” Sherlock replied, grimace evolving into a curt smile as he turned around to shake the hand of the stout man before him.

“Haven’t seen you in a while. Still got a vacancy?” Stamford inquired, sitting down across from the chair the taller man had just been seated in. Sherlock sat down stiffly.

“Yes. Although I doubt anyone would want to take up being my flatmate, what with the severed fingers in the fridge and all,” Sherlock replied, silently enjoying the small look of shock on Stamford’s face at the last remark. Stamford swallowed thickly, then quickly recovered his previous demeanor.  
“Oh come on, I’m sure I could find you a nice follow somewhere,” Stamford said, smiling as Sherlock shot daggers at him from across the table. “Don’t you say you don’t know what I’m talking about, I know you’re still a dancer at heart. I’ll find someone to fill that spot, you wait.”

“If you insist,” Sherlock snorted, digging out a few rumpled notes and throwing them on the table, desperate to be rid of Stamford. He stood, half smiling half sneering in a gesture of goodbye as he turned and strode out the door.

“See you around then,” Stamford said in a huff, standing and tottering out the diner door.

It wasn’t three hours later that Stamford showed up again, Watson in tow. He didn’t look to be the dancing type, what with the military background and the limp, but Sherlock would take what he could get. He would make a dancer of John yet.

The two men bonded quickly, and they were best friends within two weeks of John’s moving in. It didn’t take long before their relationship evolved into something deeper, and on the New Year’s Eve of their second year living together, their first kiss was shared. John was closer to Sherlock and knew more about him than anyone else, but he had yet to learn of Sherlock’s past hobby. The vinyls had collected dust since the two united, and Sherlock had only brought them out when John had gone on late night dates before they had gotten together.

Sherlock missed his music, and the feeling of floating on air that dancing brought him. So one day when John had to make an emergency grocery run after one of Sherlock’s experiments had spilt and contaminated the fridge, Sherlock decided it was high time to break out The King.

Turning up the volume on his old record player, he blew the dust off of his favorite Elvis record and returned it to its rightful place under the needle. He sighed contentedly as the sound of the Jailhouse Rock filled his ear, and he let his voice carry along with The Kings. He found the nearest tall object he could get his hands on (which happened to be a wooden chair) and began spinning and twirling about the living room, letting his feet carry him whichever way they wished.

Not even the second chorus had gone by when Sherlock heard John’s footsteps coming up the stairs, leaving him to scramble for the record, knocking over a stack of books and jamming his toe in the process.

“You’re the cutest jailbird I ever did see. I sure would be delighted with your company, come on do the jailhouse rock with m-SHUT UP YOU YANKEE DOLT,” were the words that greeted John as he entered their flat.

“Sherlock? Are you alright?” John asked, rounding the corner into their bedroom. Sherlock was sprawled on the bed, record in hand and cursing as he struggled to get the vinyl back in its sleeve.  
“Yes yes I’m fine, I thought you were going to the grocery store?” Sherlock retorted, annoyed and embarrassed that he had been caught indulging himself.

“I had forgotten my wallet. Was that...was that Elvis I just heard?” John asked, disbelief evident in his voice. Sherlock flushed crimson, giving up on the vinyl and dropping it on the bed. “That was Jailhouse Rock, right? I haven’t heard that in ages. How’d you get a hold of that?” 

“I-My uhm, my parents gave it to me. Do...do you like Elvis?” Sherlock questioned, chancing a glance at John. A wide smile was plastered on his face, and his eyes shone with excitement and reminiscence.

“Sherlock why didn’t you tell me you had these? I love Elvis! Always have, ever since I was young,” John replied, sitting down next to a very perplexed Sherlock.

“You like Elvis?” Sherlock near exclaimed, the disbelief now transferred to him. “My parents listened to all kinds of American fifties music when I was young. I acquired a strong ear for it early on also.”

“I can’t believe this, my parents were huge Dion and the Belmonts fans. They used to dance in the parlour all the time. I used to watch them for hours, and my mum even taught me a little,” John reminisced, eyes unfocused and lost in memory. Sherlock’s deep baritone chuckle shook him out of it. “What’s so funny?”

“My parents did the same,” Sherlock said, grinning at his lover. “My father taught me to lead, and my mother and I would dance constantly. It’s what kept me grounded during my teenage years. Mycroft hated it, but I think he was just jealous that I was closer with Mummy than he was,”

“My mum taught me to follow. I always wanted to lead, and I did learn eventually, but she said that someday I’d need to know it,” John explained, looking up and relishing the excited spark in his lover’s eyes. Sherlock rose, carrying the vinyl over to the record player and putting it under the needle once more.

“John Watson,” Sherlock said, moving over in front of John and extending his hand. “Would you like to dance?”

John nodded ecstatically, and with a flourish Sherlock had him in his arms, and they were in the open livingroom. Starting with a simple two step they found each other’s rhythm, and with a slight push of Sherlock’s hand on John’s torso they were off. 

“Do you know the pretzel and the two leans?” Sherlocked asked between sets of Man Unders.

“Yes on pretzel, and I know Lean On Me, is that what you mean?” John inquired, gazing up at the wonderfully flushed cheeks of his partner. Sherlock nodded, grinning so wide John worried that his face would split open.

They executed each move flawlessly; so much so that with each lean, twist of arms and sway of hips Sherlock laughed with pure joy, his chuckles rumbling in his chest and seeming to travel through the pair’s arms and out John’s mouth again, taking on its own form. They danced continuously throughout the entire record, despite the slick of sweat loosening their grip on each other’s hands and the lack of air in their lungs. The last song ended with a perfectly timed lean, and again Sherlock threw his head back and released that gorgeous laugh, making John’s insides tingle. Their gazes connected, and they shared a quick brush of lips before collapsing on the floor together.

“That...was amazing,” John exclaimed between panting breaths, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“You are a beautiful follow, John,” Sherlock commented, looking over at his rosey-cheeked companion.

“A follow is only as good as their lead,” John replied, smiling up at the taller man.

“Yes, well, you’re much easier to dance with than a chair. They do the most awful pretzels,” Sherlock said, causing his smaller companion to erupt in laughter. The two laid there like that for a while, exchanging awful dance puns and discussing how they learned to dance.

“You got me all hot and bothered, Sherlock,” John said, gesturing to his damp clothes clinging to his form. “I really need to shower.”

“As do I,” Sherlock replied, looking at the state of his own clothing. A mischievous smirk parted those perfect cupid’s bow lips. “Mind if I join you?”

“Be my guest,” John said, voice becoming slightly hoarse as he placed a chaste kiss upon Sherlock’s plump lips before getting up and moving to the bathroom.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock scampered after John, heaving himself from the floor with much effort. His heart was still beating rapidly, but with excitement rather than strenuous physical activity. He smiled as John disappeared into the bathroom with a wink, starting the shower and shedding his damp clothes, no doubt. Sherlock shed his shirt on the way there, and entered the bathroom to behold a top-naked Watson.

Closing the door, Sherlock took John by the hips and spun him so he was pinned to the door, bare back flush against the cool wood. He took John’s wrists and held them above his head as he dove down to press their lips together, tongues soon mingling and relishing each other’s specific flavour. John moaned as Sherlock sucked on his tongue, the tight pull echoed in his groin. He felt Sherlock smile into the kiss, obviously enjoying maintaining his dominant role.

Kissing and nipping his way down John’s neck, Sherlock’s nimble fingers went to work on John’s belt and slid his fingers inside the fabric of John’s pants to cast them down around his ankles. He sucked and nibbled on John’s collarbone, savoring the sharp taste of salt on his lover’s skin. John put a fleeting grasp to Sherlock’s arse before pushing both his trousers and pants over his smooth hips and down to his feet.

Smirking, Sherlock broke their entanglement and lead John into the heated stream of the shower, his large powerful hands holding John’s face as they felt the water glaze over their skin, rinsing the salty film that covered their flushed skin. Sherlock turned John gently so he was behind him, long arms wrapping around the smaller man and teeth grazing across his earlobe.

“You’re so beautiful for me, John Watson,” Sherlock purred, breath hot against John’s ear as his slender fingers massaged John’s nipples to a peak. John groaned with pleasure as Sherlock traced the lines and slopes of John’s physique, trailing down to John’s sharp hipbones. Sherlock wrapped his hands around his follow’s sides, and dug his nails into the sensitive flesh while simultaneously biting on John’s shoulder, the older eliciting a delicious moan that went straight to Sherlock’s already bulging cock.

“Bend over for me,” Sherlock commanded, voice husky with arousal. John planted his feet and gripped the edge of the tub while Sherlock relished the smooth expanse of John’s back, punctuated at the end by John’s perfectly round arse. John looked over his shoulder as he heard the shower curtain open slightly, and watched as Sherlock drizzled lube over the considerable length of his member. He slathered some on John’s puckered hole, the sudden abundance of attention causing him to yelp. 

Slowly, Sherlock eased his index finger in and wiggled it around a bit, encouraging the tight ring of muscles to relax and allow him to slip another finger in. Kneading John’s plush arse, Sherlock added another finger and John pushed back into him, desperate for more. Sherlock smirked and gave him a light smack on his behind, causing John to yelp once more and rock forward again. Sherlock teased his prostate, revelling in the change in volume of John’s hearty moans when he did.

“Sherlock please, just fuck me already,” John begged, knuckles pure white as he held on to the rim of the tub for dear life. Sherlock leaned over, peppering a constellation of kisses across John’s shoulders and back as he teased John’s hole with his length.

With a stagnant pace, Sherlock pushed into John inch by inch, the two gasping in unison upon Sherlock’s entrance. John pushed back readily into Sherlock, and he buried himself gratefully in John’s tight warmth. They quickly found each other’s rhythm, their bodies pulsating in unison as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through their bodies.

Sherlock grasped John’s leaking member, pumping his hand in rhythm with his thrusts while his free hand rested on John’s chest, feeling every rapid beat of his heart and every ragged breath. The chorus of moans crescendoed as the two approached their climax. 

John toppled over the edge first, coming forcefully and crying out Sherlock’s name in a slurred vocalization of pure bliss. Feeling John’s muscles contract around him and absorbing the sound of that magnificent scream Sherlock soon followed, spilling his seed inside his lover and raking his nails across John’s strong chest. 

Sherlock withdrew his softening member, tipping his head back and letting the water cascade down his raven curls and flushed face as John stood, kissing and sucking lightly on his broad chest.

“Looks like swing isn’t the only thing you’re good at leading,” John mused, taking the shower head that Sherlock handed to him to clean up the mess on the shower floor. Sherlock chuckled, wrapping his arms around John and kissing the nape of his neck.

“We have to dance more often,” Sherlock mused aloud, deep baritone voice reverberating off the bathroom walls.

“Agreed.”

**Author's Note:**

> The description of the moves and the move names are the ones we use in my dance group, so if you don't know what the lingo is, just let me know and I'll put a key in. 
> 
> I'm contemplating making a smutty chapter two like with my last fic to remedy the shower cliffhanger. I'll probably give into myself anyway, but if you could leave a comment telling me whether I should do some nice shower smut that would be fabulous. Thanks!!!


End file.
